


flower

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Drug Addiction, F/M, Gen, but like not that much?, can be read as either platonic or romantic, its pretty hopeful overall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25430023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: He’s always communicated in quotes, filling my body with the words of others - everything from medieval literature to modern classics to scientific textbooks.I’ve always communicated through art - doodles of flowers and animals and simple patterns evolved into full pieces over the years....(or, reid x reader writing-on-skin soulmate au)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 134





	flower

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr at zhuzhubii, if you prefer
> 
> ...
> 
> also also, i promise the next chapter of hitman is coming its just turning out like 2x as long as i thought i was gonna be so its taking a hot minute

He’s always communicated in quotes, filling my body with the words of others - everything from medieval literature to modern classics to scientific textbooks. When they first started appearing, my parents worried about my soulmate being much older than me - it was before I could really read, but I remember them being shocked at how coherent the words were. Once I was old enough to understand, they told me they stopped worrying because despite the obviously advanced nature of the words, there was no question the handwriting was that of a child - written by hands still lacking the manual dexterity to properly control a pencil. 

I’ve always communicated through art - doodles of flowers and animals and simple patterns evolved into full pieces over the years (I even invested in an expensive set of colored soul-pens - pens specifically designed to write on skin). 

When he sent 

_tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too*_

I filled him with hearts from head to toe - even on his cheeks and nose. When he wrote 

_“Where are the people?” resumed the little prince at last. “It’s a little lonely in the desert…” “It is lonely when you’re among people, too,” said the snake*_

Over and over again, I drew us together twice for each time. I thought he was probably a boy because he imagined himself as the _little prince_ , so that’s how I drew us - a little boy and a little girl holding hands, climbing trees, surrounded by books because I knew he liked literature. And when he replied hours _(days, weeks)_ later with

_he remembered that, because he had the jacket, he had withstood the cold of the dawn*_

or

_The gaiety, the mirth, the heavenly bubbling of every effusive cell that sings inside me for your kind and pithy offering*_

my heart sung with relief - relieved that my presence had alleviated his suffering. 

He, too, was a comfort in my times of hardship. When I wept and filled my legs with tearful faces and drooping flowers he wrote 

_Just ‘cause you can’t see me don’t mean I’ve gone away*_

and maybe I was still sad (and there were periods when it was more than just sad) for a time. But knowing he was there, that I was never truly alone, made it more bearable (and in my darkest hours - when I felt hopeless and worthless - I held on for him when I couldn’t hold on for myself. I think he had times like that, too). 

I never even thought about writing words, about telling him my name or my state or my address. My friends have asked me about it before - _why don’t you just ask him who he is, (y/n)? I found my soulmate that way and it’s so much better knowing them for real._

But I’ve always felt like I’ve known him for real, and I like the way we talk. I want to meet him, of course I do. But it’ll happen in time, one day, when we’re ready. I can’t wait, but I’m in no rush.

…

Something’s wrong. He hasn’t written to me in months, won’t respond to my drawings at all. The only reason I know he’s still alive is the lack of soul-sickness, but even so my coworkers and friends and family have to constantly reassure me _I promise he’s okay, you don’t have soul-sickness. You would know if he’d died._

But even if he’s not dead he’s _gone_. He won’t respond to me and that’s never happened, he’s never left me hanging for more than a day. I manage to hold out for almost five months before I break our unspoken promise.

_Hey. You haven’t written in a while, what’s wrong?_

… 

He feels guilty - about letting down his friends and his mom and _her_ (she always draws herself as female, so he assumes). And he’s ashamed, so _fucking_ ashamed, that he’s doing this. That he’s not strong enough to stop. 

_I don’t deserve her, it’s selfish of me to keep talking to her when I’m this…broken. She’ll move on eventually, become half of one of the ever more common successful non-soulbound couples._

But she never stops drawing. At first she drew cheerful, hopeful things like she always does when he’s sad. Then, over the months that he’s been quiet, it changed into worried, somber. Never angry - he _wants_ her to be angry he ghosted her, because then it’ll be easier for her to let him go. She won’t be sad if she’s spiteful. 

Then one day, four months and twenty-three days since he sent 

_Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so*_

(because he didn’t know what was about to happen to him, and he missed lunch to interview Tobias) she writes him - actually _writes_ him - for the first time ever.

_Hey. You haven’t written in a while, what’s wrong?_

And the last thing he wanted was for her to worry - he loves her even though he hasn’t met her yet, and he’s always trying to protect his loved ones from the things that hurt ( _great job of that you’ve been doing. Snapping at them and ignoring them. Asshole_ ) he doesn’t want her to _hurt_ like he does. That’s why he went dark on her in the first place. 

For some reason he starts crying - the first time he’s really broken down since Georgia instead of pushing everything _down down down out of sight out of mind._ He alone is his apartment and reaching the tail end of a high (a high that’s much much harder to achieve now, even with increasing the dosage) and for some reason he responds. 

_I need help, are you near DC?_

She replies right away, as if she was hovering over her arm with her soul-pen, waiting for him.

_I’m in Baltimore. Do you have room for me to stay over? Anything you need me to bring?_

And he sobs harder. She’s so willing to drop everything and come help - why did he ever think he could push her away?

_I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I ignored you_

Before he even finishes writing she’s started crossing it out

_~~I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I ignored you~~ HEY! Stop that, it’s all okay. If you feel like you need to explain, you can once I get there. But I don’t want you to be alone right now - do you need me to bring anything?_

_Enough clothes for a week or so? If that’s possible?_

_No problem. Address?_

He writes it with shaking hands, too nervous about withdrawal to be excited about meeting is soulmate.

_I’ll be there in a hour._

…

There’s a knock on his door fifty-eight minutes later, and his heart skips a beat.

_Is that you?_

He hears a chuckle from the other side of the door.

_Yup. Look, I’m holding my hand up to the peephole._

Her hand is covered in vines and flowers, just like his is. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

They just stare at each other for a minute, taking in kind eyes and warm cardigans. Flushed cheeks. Shaking hands.

“It’s you,” is what they both say when they’ve finally gathered themselves because maybe they’ve never met before, but they’ve known each other their whole lives. 

He huffs out a short laugh at the synchronicity, “I’m, um. I’m Reid - uh, Spencer. Spencer Reid, I mean.”

It makes her smile and he relishes in the way her eyes light up when she hears it, “I’m (y/n). Most people call me (y/n/n).”

“(y/n),” he whispers, trying out how it feels in his mouth, “um - do you wanna come in?”

She chuckles, “yes _silly_ , that’s why I’m here,” and steps through the door, carrying a small duffel over her shoulder.

“Oh, uh, you can put that wherever. I don’t have a second bedroom, but you can put your stuff in mine. I, um, I probably won’t be sleeping much anyway so I can take the couch - “

She drops her bag on the floor and gives him a considering look. All she says is, “tell me it’s not street heroin,” and he’s not surprised - it’s why he asked her to come after all - but his stomach still drops.

“Is it that obvious?” he says, then seeing the look on her face, “No, yeah I - I know it is. Um. It’s the medical grade stuff, I haven’t been desperate enough for street heroin,” Spencer takes a deep breath to collect himself, “um, hydromorphone - Dilaudid - when I can get it, but I’ve taken morphine or oxycodone or Vicodin when that was all I could - um, yeah.”

(y/n) sighs and looks away, biting her lip, then steels herself and turns back to him, “Are you ready to be done? Because we’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re not.”

He starts frantically nodding his head, pawing at his face with trembling hands, “Yeah, yeah I can’t do this anymore. I can’t - I need to be done with this.”

“Okay. We’re gonna go through your apartment and you’re gonna give me everything you have, then we’re gonna sit on the couch and come up with a plan,” and she looks so confident and sure of herself he can’t help but be relieved she’s the one doing this with him - even though withdrawal isn’t something he’d ever want his soulmate to witness him going through. 

“Okay, okay. I can do that. _We_ can do that.”

… 

“I think it’s fair to say that this isn’t how I wanted us to meet - I had all these perfect scenarios laid out in my head, of seeing you across the room in a coffee shop or a library and just knowing - but I’m glad you’re here. I know I pushed you away these past months, so I wanted to say thank you for being here, for not giving up on me. Thank you, (y/n).”

She just rests her hand on top of his and says, “We’ve always been there for each other, Spencer, and that hasn’t changed. Remember? You’re my invisible man, _just cus’ I can’t see you doesn’t mean you’ve gone away_ , and I’m your jacket, keeping you warm against the cold. You don’t have to walk the desert alone, _little prince_ , and neither do I.”

…

_quotes in order:_

_1) pablo neruda, tonight i can write_

_2) antoine de saint-exupery, the little prince_

_3) paulo coelho, the alchemist_

_4) joshua braff, the unthinkable thoughts of jacob green_

_5) jodi picoult_

_6) douglas adams, the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy_


End file.
